


Brain Freeze

by verdreht



Category: Primeval
Genre: Connor's a noble goofball, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and Stephen's got his hands full
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verdreht/pseuds/verdreht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really should've known it wasn't just brain freeze. Episode Tag to s02e01</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Re-post from ff.net

From the moment he met him, Stephen knew Connor was brilliant. And he was. Brilliant, that is.

He was also one of the biggest  _idiots_  Stephen had ever met.

It seemed like an odd juxtaposition, but it was one that Connor embodied body and soul. Ask him a question about dinosaurs that no one, especially no one under the age of sixty, would know, and nine times out of ten he'd pop out an answer that was spot on without hardly thinking about it.

Then ask him a question that even a three year old should be able to answer, and he'd make a fool out of himself. For the most part, Stephen thought it was charming. Endearing. It made him cute and reminded Stephen that he was, in fact, still human. So what if common sense escaped him sometimes? It was a sign of genius, like Cutter with women.

There were times, though, when he prayed to every god he could think of that his eccentric boyfriend was just a little less clever about dinosaurs and a little  _more_  clever about the average shit.

This was one of those times.

Steven's heart nearly jumped out of his throat as he and Cutter came running. He'd heard Connor and Abby shouting and heard the screeching call of a raptor. One plus one generally equalled two, and Connor plus raptors, in Stephen's mind, generally equalled cause for concern.

He and Cutter had torn into the bowling alley just in time to see Connor come sliding under the shutters like Indiana Jones in a post-grunge waistcoat. As he slowed, he saw Connor lean back, his face screwing up into a grimace as he brought his hand to his head. Naturally, his first thought was that Connor had hit his head.

"Hate that," Connor said, and Stephen was just about to drop and give his boyfriend a bloody concussion check when Cutter made him pause.

"What?" said the older man.

Connor lifted his head a little bit off the ground, and the next words out of his mouth could've made Stephen deck him if he didn't love him so much.

"Brain freeze," he said. "From the...slushie."

Stephen wondered if he looked as incredulous as he felt, only he didn't get much time to think on it before a loud screech from behind the shutters caught his attention. Connor jumped up just as Stephen brought his rifle around to bear on the shutters just in case they couldn't hold up to the raptor.

And as the raptor gave up, he had to remind himself that he'd probably regret it later if he fired a dart into his boyfriend while he was at it.

He hadn't thought of it after that. Connor said brain freeze, and it seemed like such a Connor thing to say that he didn't think twice. Besides, he had other things to worry about. Cutter, for instance – the man was losing his mind, he thought. Talking about some "Julia" lady that he'd never heard of and carrying on like the world would end if they so much as stepped on one of raptor's tails too hard.

And then, as if his mentor losing his marbles wasn't enough, there were the raptors themselves. Nothing like a couple of creative carnivores running around a multi-story mall to keep him on his toes. Yeah, he had plenty to keep his mind occupied. Especially when one nearly made him its tea time snack in the fun house.

He actually hadn't seen Connor for a good while. Not until after they'd tranq'ed the raptor. He and Cutter had been talking on the bridge, ironing out the Helen fiasco – Cutter had taken it all surprisingly well – when Connor came running. At first, Stephen wondered what the rush was. Then he saw Abby on the cart he was wheeling behind him.

Connor had shot her. After all the hours Stephen had spent teaching Connor how to bloody shoot, he'd gone and stuck a dart in one of their teammates. And all for a baby raptor hardly bigger than Stephen's neighbour's miniature poodle.

Long story short, they'd run around the mall like lunatics, rounded up the little raptor family, and sent them back through the anomaly where they belonged. Top off the day with nearly getting his foot chomped off by a raptor, and Stephen figured it had been a hell of a day.

He'd spent a bit patching himself up. It was a good thing he'd been wearing the boots he'd been wearing, because he got away with only a couple nicks on his foot and ankle. Nothing broken, nothing that needed stitches – all in all, not bad for surviving a raptor bite. He'd showered, slathered on some antiseptic, and put on some sticking plasters where he needed them, all in time to get dressed and head back to ARC.

The first couple of hours back at the office were a party by their own rights. Lector brought in some woman, Jennifer Lewis, to handle their public relations. Their cover-ups. The thought didn't make happy by itself; Cutter's little fits after didn't do much to endear the idea to him. Apparently, "Jenny" reminded him of "Claudia."

Christ, things were getting to be a little mad around there.

He'd made a point of staying out of it. He had some guns that needed cleaning, and as opposed to this Jenny woman, he wasn't too keen on dealing with people as a career. He gave things about an hour to cool down before he bothered poking his head back out of the trench.

Mercifully, things seemed to have simmered down. Cutter was in his office, Lector and Jenny were nowhere to be seen, and Abby had wandered off to do her thing. Connor was the only one unaccounted for, and since he could only clean his guns to many times, he made it his next task to track down his boyfriend before. He figured he was probably getting himself into something, and it was best not to leave him unattended.

It took a little bit of doing – Stephen checked all of Connor's usual haunts: the break room, the computer labs, the server room – with nothing doing. It wasn't until he stopped by Connor's actual office that he laid eyes on the trademark black hair and pin-striped waistcoat that instantly identified his boyfriend.

Stephen didn't generally feel the need to knock when he was entering someone's office, especially not Connor's. All the same, he paused in the doorway, rapping his knuckles haphazardly against the frame behind his back. Connor had his back to him, but normally the younger man knew he was there when he was. Something about the sound his boots made on the floor. He was half expecting his boyfriend to just keep on doing what he was doing and ignore the knock, given how easily he got carried away with something. Or maybe he'd tell him to wait. Or maybe he'd even turn his head and smile at him while his fingers rattled over the keyboard at a breakneck pace.

Any of that would've been perfectly normal. Well, as normal as Connor could be. But what he got  _wasn't_  normal, by  _any_  standards. Not even Connor's.

As soon as the knocks sounded in the room, Connor jumped like he'd been shot. His arms flailed out like they were meant to catch some attacker just behind him, but the only thing they managed to hit was the cup of tea sitting on the corner of his desk. The mug fell to the ground and shattered on impact, which in turn only made Connor jump higher.

Torn between confusion and amusement, Stephen watched Connor drop down to pick up the mug for a moment before he went to join him. On the way, he snatched the metal filing box from one of the cabinets to put the shards of ceramic in when they picked them up.

When he knelt down, though, all thoughts of cleaning left his mind. As he reached to pick up the first shard, he noticed Connor's hands and stopped. They were shaking. Not even the usual bit of tremor they had sometimes. No, this was full blown shakes that had him chasing the same shard around the puddle of tea.

"Connor?"

But Connor didn't seem to hear him, or at least couldn't be bothered to answer. He managed to get hold of one of the pieces, only to drop it with a hiss. He'd grabbed it too hard, cut himself. There was already blood on his fingers, seeping through his gloves.

That was alarming enough. Only, it got worse. It got worse when Stephen realized that he'd cut his hand badly, and he didn't even seem to notice.

"Connor!" He reached for his hand, but Connor jerked it back, tucking it against his chest. It was only then that Connor looked up, and Stephen didn't like the way he looked. His face was pale – too pale, almost ghostly – and there was a sort of daze about him that didn't sit right with Stephen.

When Connor stood, so did Stephen, and as the younger man turned, Stephen grabbed him. He had him by the upper arms, not tight enough to hurt, but he did tighten his grip as Connor tried to pull away from him. "Connor, stop!"

Maybe it was the sharpness in his tone, or maybe it was just that he'd said anything at all, but Connor stopped. No, he  _froze_ , like a deer in head lights. His eyes were wide, but as he watched, Stephen realized that they never quite managed to focus on him.

Something was off...one of his pupils looked a little bigger than the other; he kept squinting away from the light every time he looked up. Stephen recognized that and the way his nose scrunched up as the same face he made when he got his migraines.

Turning Connor away from the light, he dipped his head a little to try to catch Connor's line of sight. "What's the matter?" he said, only Connor's attention had started to wander again. "Con—!" Too loud; Connor winced. Stephen tried again, quieter. "Connor, what happened?"

Judging by the way Connor was acting, Stephen could already make a few guesses. The disorientation, the squinting, the way he had his arms raised by his head like he was trying to protect it...it all pointed to his head.

Connor, for his part, was pitiful as he practically mirrored Stephen's thoughts. "My head," he said. "Hurts. My head hurts."

Stephen had to force himself to be patient. Losing his temper would only make things harder to handle, and stressed as he was, he knew it was important to keep calm. "D'you know why? Is it one of your migraines?"

It took Connor a second to process, and then he shook his head, only to realize that apparently wasn't a very good idea. In fact, it seemed to be a terrible bad one; bad enough that he tore away from Stephen and dropped to his knees in front of the rubbish bin.

Stephen was right behind him as he started to wretch, rubbing his back and keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You're alright, mate. Just catch your breath,"

Luckily the spell wasn't very long, and soon enough, Connor was sitting back onto his heels, his back falling flush against Stephen's chest. "Not a migraine, then," Stephen said, more to himself than anything else. It wasn't like Connor had never hurled before with a migraine – they made him nauseous sometimes, though rarely enough to make him actually be sick – but with all the other signs together and Connor's denial, it seemed like there was something else the matter.

He thought he'd have to speculate on it, or maybe ask, but Connor hadn't seemed to realize Stephen wasn't talking to him in the first place. "Hit it."

"Your head?"

Connor went to nod, but Stephen caught his chin and held it in place, so Connor talked instead, his teeth still clenched because of Stephen's hand. "Sliding." He pantomimed something coming down in front of him. "Shutters."

That was when it hit Stephen. It honestly hadn't even occurred to him before that; he'd forgotten about it entirely. But now, he remembered. He remembered Connor diving in under the shutters at the mall, wincing like he hurt his head.

"You said it was brain freeze."

"Yeah, well..." Connor reached around to the back of his head and winced. "I lied."

Stephen was a patient sort of guy, especially when it came to Connor, but he was no saint. He couldn't quite think of anything to say that didn't involve telling Connor how big an idiot he'd been, so instead he bit his tongue and changed his focus to something else.

"Let's get you up," he said. It was easier said than done, though. He went to stand, and with his arms hooked under Connor's, he tried to lift him up, only he stopped when Connor let out a plaintive whine.

"Stephen..." He was pitiful enough that Stephen squatted back down. With his arms free again, Connor went to hold his head, leaning back against Stephen's chest again. "Moving makes it worse. Definitely worse." This time, he was speaking through grit teeth not because of Stephen's hand on his chin, but because of the pain. He wasn't just being childish; it really did hurt.

For a moment, Stephen was at a loss. He looked around the room, trying to figure out the best step to take next. Maybe get his phone, call Cutter. Connor needed a doctor, and he was pretty sure they had one around there somewhere. He didn't want to keep Connor in the floor, though. For one, that puddle of tea was spreading, and for two, the smell of sick was making  _his_  stomach turn a little.

Salvation came in the form of the couch he saw over in the corner of the room. If he could get Connor over to there, he could let him lay down while he figured out what to do next. Getting Connor to move, though, hadn't been all that successful thus far. He didn't want to hurt him anymore than he already was.

That left one other option, as far as Stephen was concerned, and so without any further ado, he moved around to Connor's side, hooking his arms behind his back and under his knees. Then, as gently but quickly as he could manage, he lifted him up.

"No, no, no. Stephen, down. Put me—I don't—not good. Very not good."

"Easy, Connor. I'm not going to drop you." He was, however, going to put him down, which Connor also wasn't happy about. When he lowered him to the sofa, Connor started to tense, and he put his arms around his neck and held firm, even once Stephen had gotten him onto the couch. When he tried to stand, Connor wouldn't let him. He held firm, his nose nestled in Stephen's shoulder.

Stephen stopped. Sighed. Waited.

"Anytime you feel like letting go..."

"I can't."

"You can't, or you won't?"

"Yes."

"Connor." His tone was fond, exasperated.

"Stephen." His tone was weak, pitiful. Almost a little desperate. And in fact, it wasn't until Stephen knelt in front of the couch and eased his head out from under the loop of Connor's arms that he was free again.

Free to stay exactly where he was, at any rate. He didn't care to leave Connor just yet, and he needed to get a look at his head before he could decide what to do from there.

"Let's have a look at you, then," he said. "Can you raise your head up?"

"Yeah." Not very well, though, it seemed. Stephen ended up moving to sit on the side of the sofa and reaching across him to help him sit up the rest of the way. And even then, Connor ended up leaning his forehead forward onto Stephen's shoulder with a soft groan. "God, that doesn't feel good," he said.

"Concussions generally don't," Stephen said as he started feeling around the back of Connor's head. "Where does it hurt? Up? Down? Left? Ri—"

He got his answer in the form of a yelp, and Connor reached up to try to bat his hand away. Stephen intercepted Connor's hand, though, holding it reassuringly in his own as he felt around the knot on the back of his boyfriend's skull. "Christ," he said, "but you don't do anything halfway, do you?"

"Is it bad?"

"Well, the good news is I don't think anything's broken." He eased Connor upright again, keeping a steadying hand on the back of his neck as he fished his key ring out of his pocket. He had a penlight on it, and he turned it on. "Look at my nose."

"Is something the matter with it?" Connor said, only to hiss as Stephen brought the light around to his eyes. He tried to duck his head away, but Stephen held firm.

"Connor, I need you to hold still and let me check you over."

Connor actually blushed. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Stephen said, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Connor's brow before he moved the penlight onto his other eyes. Though his brows drew in and his eyes watered, Connor kept perfectly still until Stephen put his keys back in his pocket.

Stephen wasn't sure if it was the watering eyes or the beginnings of real tears that made Connor sniffle, but it made his chest ache all the same. The smile Connor tried to don as he dragged the back of his good hand across his eyes didn't do much to help it, either.

"So, Doctor Hart, am I going to live?"

"Looks like it," Stephen said. "A concussion – nothing more so far as I can tell. Unless you've got something else you've been hiding, because then I'll probably have to kill you myself."

Stephen had meant it as a joke.

So then why wasn't Connor laughing?


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm going to kill you," Stephen said. "Honest to God, I'm going to rip your daft little head off."

At least Connor had the good sense to look guilty…or maybe sheepish would've been a better word for it, because guilty people didn't really  _chuckle_  like Connor did. It didn't help that the way he bobbed his shoulders only served to highlight the swelling that had taken over the majority of his right shoulder, and there were the beginnings of color that Stephen knew were going to make for a fine bruise in a couple hours.

"It's not as bad as it looks. At least, I don't think. I hardly feel it," Connor said. Stephen couldn't tell if he was more helpful or apologetic, and though the thought  _did_ count for something, it wasn't going to get him off the hook.

"You're lucky it's not dislocated."

"It's not as bad as all that," Connor said. "Really it's not. Just a…little…swollen…" He trailed off as he glanced over at his shoulder and apparently realized that, at least looking at it, it _was_  as bad as all that.

Stephen paused in his pacing to raise a very pointed eyebrow.

"Sorry." It was the seventh time Connor had apologized in the past few minutes. Four apologies ago, it had been when Stephen had made him take his shirt off and seen the bruises he hadn't known were there. Three ago, it had been when he tried to ramble out an apology. Two ago had been for accidentally stepping on Stephen's raptor foot when he swung his legs over the side of the couch so that Stephen could get a better look at his shoulder.

"I don't want an apology," Stephen said, running a hand through his hair irately. "What I want is—" He stopped pacing, turning on Connor. "I want to know why you didn't tell me! Why the bloody hell did you lie? It could've been worse and you would've been none the wiser; are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I dunno," Connor said. His eyes were fixed on the ground between his feet, his thin shoulders slumped like he was trying to draw in on himself.

But Stephen was too hot around the collar to stop. "Bullocks, Connor! You had a reason, so tell me! Why would you be stupid enough to walk around with a concussion and a busted-to-hell shoulder? And why the hell wouldn't you tell m—"

"Why the hell would I?"

It caught Stephen off guard, hearing Connor snap like that. He never snapped, never shouted.

Using Stephen's shocked silence to his own advantage, Connor kept on, only a little quieter, and he couldn't seem to bring himself to look Stephen in the eye. The burst of temper had receded and left him shy and uncomfortable. "You lot already think I'm an idiot. Sliding in and hitting my head 'cause I let a raptor get the jump on me, I didn't exactly prove you wrong. Bad enough to be an idiot; I didn't want to be a bother, too. Just thought I took a knock to me head."

The admittance had softened Stephen's temper a little bit. Connor hadn't been hiding it from him, then. He hadn't been  _lying_  for the sake of lying. He'd been embarrassed, which though still silly by Stephen's standards, was a little more pitiful and a little less irritating.

There was still something giving him pause, though. "It got worse. Running around like we were, you'd have noticed your head pounding and your ears ringing like Big-bloody-Ben. Not to mention your shoulder. Adrenaline only goes so far."

Connor didn't respond immediately, worrying his lip and fidgeting with his gloves. Stephen noticed his hand was still bleeding a little bit and frowned. Reaching into his back pocket for his kerchief, he squatted down in front of Connor and took his bad hand in his own. Connor still didn't say a word as Stephen carefully slipped his glove off his slender hand and replaced it with the pristinely white handkerchief.

It wasn't until Stephen was tying the last knot on the makeshift bandage that Connor seemed to get his voice back. "I didn't want to say anything," he said, his eyes fixed pointedly on Stephen's hands around his own. "Cutter had enough on his plate with that Claudia business, and then we were down a pair of hands after Abby…I'd already made enough of a mess of things without giving you something else to worry about."

Stephen paused to let the words sink in as he finished tying the last knot over Connor's hands. The bleeding wasn't too bad; the cuts wouldn't take stitches. But he always thought better when he had something to do with his hands.

"And after?" he said finally, sitting back on his heels.

"You got bitten by a velociraptor and almost trapped in an anomaly. A goose egg didn't really seem like a big deal after that."

"Maybe next time let me be the judge of that, yeah?" Stephen said, but the issue was already resolved. Stephen couldn't be mad at Connor for not telling him, because it hadn't been a conscious choice to shut him out. He hadn't said anything because he'd been embarrassed and flustered and trying to help. Stephen could hardly fault him for that.

Especially when, for the first time since he'd wandered in, he managed to get a real smile out of the man. It wasn't a big one, but it reached his eyes and that was enough. "Yeah," Connor said. "I'll do that."

Stephen gave a small smile in return and stood. An office was no place to feel crummy, and Stephen's next order of business was to get his boyfriend back to his apartment - not Abby's, because Connor was his and it was his place to look after him.

First things first, though, he had to get him a shirt back on. Walking through the office bare-chested was probably going to be frowned upon, after all. The trick was getting him back in something without him having to move that shoulder too much. It had been enough of a trick getting it off him the first time, what with how he couldn't get his arm up more than ninety degrees. A waistcoat only was bound to look odd, too.

Glancing down at his own chest, he realized he was wearing his sports jacket. It'd be an easy enough way to get something on him without hurting his shoulder too much.

Mind made up, he unzipped the coat and pulled it around his boyfriend. "Arm in," he said.

Connor looked at him confusedly.

"You're not getting back into that t-shirt of yours. Just humour me, yeah? Arm in." Mercifully, this time Connor went with it, gingerly easing his arm up and into the sleeve. Carefully as he could, Stephen pulled it up over onto his shoulder. The other arm went easier, and Stephen was able to pull the zipper up to Connor's collarbone. "There you go. Now, up." Stephen offered Connor a hand and pulled him up onto his feet.

Connor'd no sooner made it vertical than he started to pitch forward. Stephen caught him about the waist and held him up even as Connor tried to sit back down.

"No, no, no," Connor said through gritted teeth. He wanted to get back to the couch.

Stephen wasn't letting him, though. "Yes, yes, yes," he said. "You're alright, mate. I've got you. Just take a second to get your bearings."

Connor just groaned, burying his face in Stephen's shoulder. "Make the world stop spinning."

"Nothing's spinning, mate. It just feels that way," he said, and then he started to move Connor around a bit. At Connor's whine of protest, he smiled sympathetically. "The quicker we get moving, the quicker we get back to mine and the quicker you get to have a lie down."

Eventually, Stephen managed to get Connor around to his side, his good arm pulled around his shoulders. As he started walking him towards the door, he kept a hand around his hips, both to steady him and to help steer him since he didn't seem to partial on opening his eyes.

The arrangement earned them a fair number of odd looks from people they passed in the office, but they actually made it all the way out to the car park before they got stopped. Cutter was on his way back in from a coffee run it looked like, judging by the foam cups in his hand, and as Stephen was helping Connor into the passenger seat, he walked over.

"Everything alright?" he said. His eyes flicked to Connor in the passenger seat, his head bowed into his hands like he was trying to hold it on his shoulders. "Connor?"

"He's hurt his head," Stephen said as he stepped back a bit to make room for Cutter. The professor came to stand next to him in front of the open car door, trying to get a look at the miserable passenger. "I'm taking him home."

Cutter nodded, bracing his hand on the roof of the car and glancing in at the miserable passenger before turning back to Stephen. "What happened?"

"Brain freeze."

Cutter raised a curious eyebrow.

"In the mall," Stephen said. "When he pulled an Indy Jones and said he'd gotten himself brain freeze, he'd actually managed to crack his bloody skull on the floor. Did a number on his shoulder, too."

"Sure he doesn't need the hospital?"

Stephen shrugged. "Far as I can tell, it's not more than a concussion and a sprain. I figured I'd take him home, keep an eye on him."

From inside the car, Connor raised a hand. "I like the second," he said, but then retreated back into his pseudo-foetal position. Stephen recognized the expression on his face; the pain was flaring up again.

"Right, well, I'm gonna get him home. Sorry, Connor, this'll be loud." He shut the door, wincing in sympathy as the sound echoed in the car park. He went around to the driver side, only to pause for a moment. "Oi, Cutter."

The professor stopped short from where he'd been heading on his way again, turning. "Yeah?"

"Probably won't be in tomorrow, if you could tell Lester."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?"

Stephen shrugged innocently. "I've got my hands full."

Judging from the look, Cutter didn't  _quite_  buy it. All the same, though, he rolled his eyes and smiled. "What the hell, I'll let him know. You get him look after."

With a grateful smile, Stephen nodded. "Can do," he said and climbed into the car.

**Author's Note:**

> Appreciate any feedback you're willing to give. Thanks for reading!


End file.
